The first thing I notice when I wake up is that every muscle in my body aches.

It feels like somebody took a baseball bat and struck me across the back of the neck, the shoulders, all down my spine, and even into my thighs. Not a huge surprise, since I apparently fell asleep all but sitting up, my only pillow a hard mass of muscle.

Waking up in Reeve's apartment isn't as jarring for me as I thought it'd be. Maybe it would've been if we'd done something—if I'd given in and let myself comfort him the way he wanted to be comforted—but we didn't. We talked and watched movies and, judging from the wet spot on his shirt, I apparently drooled on him at some point in the night. Gross.

He's still sleeping soundly, and I don't really want to wake him after the night he had. So I try to duck out from under his arm without rousing him. That turns out to be the easy part. Much harder is the feat of standing up from the couch, my knees popping loudly and my back having a lot to say about the position I slept in.

I manage it somehow, though, and look down at Reeve's sleeping form. Seeing him now, his expression softened by rest, it's not hard to believe this is the same man who shared so much of his pain with me last night. But before this? I always assumed Reeve was one of those guys who just never got emotional, period, and definitely never cried.

I guess I was wrong about a lot of things with him, and as I look at him now, my heart gives an odd little thump.

I can't just hang around and watch Reeve sleep, though. I need to tell Tony I'm going to be late today, and call my mom so she doesn't worry. Stepping into his bathroom, I splash some water on my face, rake my fingers through my hair, and basically make everything about my appearance inadvertently worse before I just give up and make the calls.

Reeve's still asleep when I come back out, so I search through his kitchen for something edible. He… doesn't have much, but some eggs, milk, a few slices of leftover pizza, and some sliced Kraft cheese at least give me something to work with. Figuring he won't mind, I grab ingredients like I'm trying out for Chopped and search for a pan. The only one he owns definitely isn't non-stick, but I do the best I can with what I have, trying to cook something even remotely resembling the omelets he likes to order from me.

Surprise surprise, once things start to smell good, Reeve wakes up.

"The hell'd you find to cook in my fridge?" he asks, the first two words slurred from sleepiness.

I look over at him and instantly my heart does a silly little flip. That is so not something I need, but the sight of him groggily sitting up, his hair and clothes all mussed, a sleepy smile on his lips just does things to me.

"Sausage and pepper omelets, courtesy of Dominos. I had to destroy what was left of the pizza to harvest enough ingredients. Hope you don't mind."

"If you can make omelets out of two-day-old pizza, you can destroy however much of it you want," he says, and there's a note of admiration in his voice that does wonders for my ego.

I finish up with the first omelet as Reeve stumbles to the bathroom.

"I look like shit," I hear him moan from the other side of the door.

And… yeah. That's pretty accurate. His face is puffy, his eyes are red, and he basically looks like anyone would be expected to look after an emotional night.

Yet somehow, even throughout all of that, he's still got that ruggedly handsome thing going on. Go figure.

He walks into the kitchen, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him kind of hang out in the entryway. His posture's guarded, and he's watching me like he's expecting me to launch back into everything we talked about last night.

It hits me then, pulling down my good mood like a lead weight: Reeve may not be all that happy about what happened. He's a big, gruff, ex-cop, and I saw him at what was probably his most emotional. Hell, I even held him while he cried.

I don't want to think of Reeve as being so insecure that he'd actually get upset over that, but I just don't know.

"Hey, so uh…" He ruffles a hand through his already messy hair and I hold my breath. "Thanks. For last night."

I wait for the inevitable "but." Thanks for last night, but don't ever talk to me about it again. Thanks for last night, but I need you to forget you ever saw any of that. Thanks for last night, but get the fuck out of my apartment.

What he says, though, is, "Not sure how well I would've made it through yesterday without you here."

I let out a breath, feeling a huge sense of relief. And maybe a little bit of warmth.

"Speaking of, how's your head?" I ask, sliding a spatula under the finished omelet to get it onto a plate.

"Not as bad as it could've been," he says with a smirk.

He finally comes into the kitchen and moves behind me, and for a second I have this sudden fantasy of him slipping his arms around me and kissing my neck like we're some married couple. It's crazy, and of course he doesn't do that. He just makes his way to the coffee pot to clean it out and put a fresh batch on.

"This one's yours," I say, nodding to the paper plate on the counter. "If it sucks, blame it on Dominos."

He laughs and takes the plate to the kitchen table, grabbing some silverware from a nearby drawer on the way. Even as I crack a few more eggs into a bowl, I'm hanging onto his reaction.

The satisfied moan he gives lights up way too many pleasure receptors in my body.

"Fuck, that's good." He stuffs another piece in his mouth, swallows, and says, "Should add this to the menu."

"Leftover pizza omelet?" I ask with a smirk. "Think that'd go over better in a college town."

Reeve eats as I cook my own omelet. It doesn't take long, but he's got most of his finished by the time I bring my plate—and a cup of coffee for each of us—to the table. He looks up from his breakfast and gives me a sheepish smile.

"Guess I could've waited a bit, huh?"

I wave this off. "Don't ever apologize for enjoying your food."

Especially food I cooked for you.

As I take a bite, I realize he's not too far off about it. It's not anywhere near the quality of using fresh ingredients. The peppers don't have any bite to them and the sausage is a little watery. But the taste is there, and it's definitely good hangover food.

Reeve slows down, and we both eat in companionable silence for a while. Eventually he looks at me, glances out the kitchen window, and then reaches for his phone to check the time.

"Shit. You have to open the diner."

It's almost cute that out of everything, that's what he's most worried about.

"I told Tony I'd be in late. I'll let him sleep in later in the week—it'll be fine."

He nods, reaching for his coffee cup. The way his brows are knit together makes me a little nervous. There's obviously more he wants to say.

"Feel bad about making you miss work. I don't normally… I mean, probably no big shock to you that I'm not a big crier," he says with a nervous laugh.

He won't meet my gaze, and it occurs to me that he may actually feel self-conscious. I get it. This fucked-up world we live in teaches men that it's weakness to cry. Even I'm susceptible to that sort of thinking.

But it has no place here.

"I'm not going to ruin your rep, if that's what you're worried about," I tease, trying to set him at ease.

It seems to work, because a grin tugs at his lips. "Good. I worked hard at it."

"You seriously don't have anything to apologize for, though. I can't imagine carrying around all of that, day after day."

He looks down at his coffee, just nodding. Reeve's a proud guy. That much is obvious. I guess in that way we're a lot more alike than I realized.

"I get it, though. As an adult, as a man, you’re supposed to be able to handle this shit, so you just keep moving forward; keep making bad decisions. I’ve got plenty of those under my belt." Judging from last night, those decisions revolve around drinking for Reeve. For me, they're something else, and the confession rises unbidden. "My mom doesn't even know about Blake. I haven't been able to bring myself to tell her."

He looks up at me again, his eyes widening a little. "I always thought you two were super close."

"We are," I say with a sad smile. "I think that's part of why I can't do it. She's…"

I sigh, trying to think of some way to explain this so it doesn't sound absolutely crazy. I know it's not all that rational. I know I should man up and just tell her. But every time I think about doing it, I feel sick.

"My mom's the strongest person I know, by far," I start. "She spent a lifetime outperforming men at jobs people said women couldn't do. Then she got into a field dominated by men and absolutely killed it. She doesn't take any shit from anybody, and the one time I saw a guy even raise his voice at her, she kneed him so hard in the groin, he was crying."

His coffee cup hides his mouth, but I can see his smile in his eyes. "Always knew I liked that woman."

I grin, feeling no small amount of pride at that. But the expression fades by the time I fess up. "She raised me to be just like her. Tough, confident, assertive. So how can I tell her I let a guy beat on me for months before I got up the courage to leave?"

Reeve's gaze lifts to mine. There's a fire in his eyes, an intensity that catches me off guard. "You've got nothing to be ashamed of. You're not the one who’s weak. He is."

A small, half-hearted smile touches my lips. "Doesn't feel like it."

"I'm serious. You survived the shit he put you through and you're thriving now. That takes real strength. Your mom'll get that."

He reaches for my hand, covering it with his larger one. Warmth suffuses my body, and I wonder if he felt the same sort of comfort last night. I can only hope so.

"Honestly, the fact that you’re you is… I don’t know. It’s amazing to me. I don't think I could ever trust somebody after that."

I never really thought about it before now, but I haven't actually let myself trust anyone since Blake. I've had hookups here and there, but they were always on my terms, with guys I knew I wasn't ever going to have to see again.

I haven't really been myself with anybody. Because of what Blake did to me, I haven't been able to let anyone in.

But here's this man who's looking at me like he actually thinks I could move mountains if I wanted to. This man who's seen me at my lowest point; who let me see him through his.

And it's hard not to think that maybe I actually can trust someone again.

"It's not as hard as I thought it'd be," I say, meeting his gaze.

I can tell the moment he catches the deeper meaning in that. He draws in a breath, and his expression changes from that steely conviction to something softer.

I can’t help myself then. Reaching up to touch his face, I caress the sharp line of his jaw, his stubble rough against the pads of my fingers. He doesn’t try to lean in; doesn’t direct my actions at all. Instead, he lets me explore the angles of his face in my own time, and waits for me to close the distance between us.

My lips meet his, just a soft press at first. He responds, but only enough to follow my lead. As our mouths slowly meld together, learning each other’s rhythm, I can feel that flutter deep in my chest that I haven’t felt in so long—that shot of emotion that surges into action, manifesting in my kiss as I press more firmly against him, my tongue sweeping out to part his lips.

It’s been forever since I was genuinely turned on by a kiss, and what’s happening to me now isn’t just a physical response. My heart and my mind both get on board as our tongues touch and tease, lighting up a million different pleasure receptors.

He doesn’t try to push things any further, and I think that’s what I’m responding to. I feel safe with Reeve. Not just physically, but in every way a person can feel safe.

As I finally draw back, I make the most of that sense of safety to take a chance. “I don’t know what this is between us, but… I’d like to find out.”

Reeve’s lips curve into the most gorgeous smile I’ve ever seen. “I was really hoping you’d say that.”

I kiss him again, unable to resist, and the two of us just trade affection until I have to leave. My heart feels light, even after I’m out of his apartment; out of his embrace. I know there’s a huge danger here of falling too hard, too fast. Of putting more of myself into this than Reeve even wants. But something about him makes me want to do it, and just the fact that I can feel that way again after Blake is almost a euphoric realization for me.

I want to see where this goes, and I’m positive I’m already better off for it, no matter how it plays out.